


Carp

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori somewhat flounders in Bilbo’s direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carp

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “I've come across some fics surrounding these two and most, I've found, center around when they are established. Can I get Ori fumbling over talking to Bilbo trying to court him with lots of blushing and (un)helpful aid from Fili and Kili” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22609643#t22609643).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After so long on the road with so few of them, Laketown feels _huge_ , especially in the bustling marketplace with everyone several heads taller. Gandalf was quite jarringly tall the first time Ori met him, but he was just one person, and now everyone’s big and lean and more used to the little bridges that carry over the water than him, and for that, it’s very strange. 

But it’s also delightful to have somewhere to shop. There’s been nothing but flowers along the way, a pretty rock here and whatever Ori could find in the troll hoard, but nothing really worthy of _Bilbo_. Fíli and Kíli say it’s fine, that hobbits like flowers best anyway, but Ori’s not so sure anymore that they know any more about hobbits than he does. At least Bilbo always smiles when he gets the flowers. It’s something. Maybe here, he can finally find something that’ll bring him more than that. 

He stumbles around with his brothers on either side. It’s a comfort not to be alone here, and he’s half hoping they’ll help, even though he hasn’t told them much. They can usually guess what’s going on. When they turn a corner between two narrow houses, Nori points to a stand full of lamps with an elderly woman crouched behind it, and he elbows Ori in the side to say, “How about that?”

The three of them stop, stepping back as two younger men pass them, and Ori glances at Nori. He seems to _know_ —of course he would; to any dwarf, Ori’s courting has been obvious—so Ori asks, “Would Bilbo like that?” He’s not so sure.

Nori answers quite confidently, “Everyone likes fire.”

That doesn’t sound at all right. So Ori shrugs awkwardly and mutters, “It looks too expensive.” The one Nori pointed to looks golden, brass but painted, engraved. More than Ori has, anyway.

Nori just winks and says, “That’s not a problem.”

Dori finally jumps in, huffing, “Nori!” and pushing them all right out of the alley. There he drags Ori aside a few steps, and Ori lets himself be tugged. Against a corner out of the fray, Dori asks, “Why do you need to give Bilbo so many gifts?” As Ori’s cheeks flush, caught, Dori adds, “We have so little money after that awkward crossing, and courtship isn’t all about gifts, anyway.”

“I know,” Ori mumbles, even though he really didn’t and would’ve happily spent everything he had on Bilbo. “But Fíli and Kíli say—”

Dori cuts him off, scoffing, “Fíli and Kíli don’t know anything. They’re as young as you are, with just as little experience. Now, I’ve been around a while, and I can tell you that you’re perfectly charming on your own. And you and Bilbo are well suited to each other. You just have to talk to him.” Ori squirms in place: that sounds _hard_.

And if he knew how to do that, maybe he wouldn’t have uprooted so many flowers between here and the Shire. But he _doesn’t_ , and every time he tries he gets all useless. It doesn’t help that he’s always put so much effort into trying to be crude and rambunctious like most dwarves, only to fall for someone fussy and neat. And now all his signals get crossed. He looks at Dori imploringly, but Dori only sighs, “I’m sorry, but if you ever want to get anywhere, you’ve got to use your words. Look, there shouldn’t be too many at the house now. Go back and talk to him.”

“Alone?” Ori squeaks, but even as he says it, he understands. Over Dori’s shoulder, he can see Nori sidling up to a fish booth.

“I’ve got to keep an eye on that one,” Dori says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in Nori’s direction. Nori freezes instantly, as though he can _feel_ Dori’s accusatory gaze. Before Ori can plead for help, Dori’s turned and left to usher Nori away from the open, unchecked barrels between them. 

Ori does walk home. He does it slowly, sticking to the middle of the bridges and walkways for worry of falling into the water and being too heavy to get out again. He feels awkward being empty-handed and toys twitchily with his scarf. He tries the whole way there to think of what he’ll say, but he doesn’t come up with anything. When he does arrive, he doesn’t even get the chance to go inside; Bilbo’s standing at the side of the house they’re borrowing, leant against a wooden rail, peering down at the frigid water.

Ori’s first instinct is to run past him and inside. But they get so few chances to talk _alone_ that Ori knows he has to stay. He walks slowly up to Bilbo, who turns and gives him a radiant smile, and then he pretends to lean over the rail whilst really keeping all his weight in his feet. Bilbo’s pudgy, but not as much and stouter, so if one of them is going to break the railing, it’ll likely be Ori. 

Because he’s thought of nothing to say, Ori ends up asking, “Aren’t your feet cold?” It’s one of the curious things about hobbits. Bilbo’s feet are somehow bigger than Ori’s, furry and flat and standing so easily against the frosty wood. 

Bilbo merely shrugs and says, “A little, but nothing I can’t handle.” Evidently not enough to try boots.

This is where a present would come in handy. By the time Ori thinks of a follow up question, too much time has passed. Bilbo seems perfectly content to watch the water, but then—he gets like that, sometimes, quiet and contemplative. He and Gandalf often sat together to smoke in silence at the beginning of their journey, and Ori would watch in fascination, wishing he had a scroll or a book or something. Bilbo’s sitting room was full of more books than all of the sitting rooms in the Blue Mountains combined. Or the ones Ori’s seen, anyway. Ori can’t bring himself to watch the water, instead watching _Bilbo_ , and somehow blurts, “You look good today.”

Bilbo blinks at him, clearly surprised, and Ori blushes, spluttering, “Not that you don’t every day. I mean. Especially today.” Which makes no sense at all, but somehow Bilbo laughs, good-natured as he usually is.

He says, “Thank you,” and sounds so perfectly sweet. He’s so very courteous and kind and all those lovely things, and Ori’s something of a wreck, not quite dwarf enough and not even remotely hobbit.

His next try is: “Do you want to go to the market?”

Which he thinks is a brilliant question, until Bilbo asks, “Didn’t you just come from the market?”

So Ori squeaks, “Fishing?”

Bilbo’s brows knit together. “You fish?”

Ori has no idea how to fish. Blushing hotly, he mutters, “Anywhere?” Which isn’t even a full question. 

Bilbo still glances back at the house, noting, “I don’t think too many of the others are home.”

“Without the others.” Now Ori can barely hear himself; his face has gone too hot and his blood is pounding in his ears. 

Bilbo, finally, says, “Oh,” and comprehension passes over his eyes. He doesn’t look particularly upset, which is probably a good thing, nor does he look all that surprised, which may or may not be a good thing. He just sort of looks at Ori, as though waiting for more, and Ori licks his lips, wanting to deliver. 

Shyly, he admits, “I really like you, Bilbo.” Bilbo says nothing, so he sucks in a breath, jerks uselessly at his scarf and goes on, “I’ve never met anyone so sweet and intelligent and... and well-spoken! You’re a brilliant writer, and I—”

“Really?” Bilbo asks, and now he looks surprised, maybe just at the last part. 

Ori nods, hurrying on, “Yes! I love all your songs, and the little stories you’ve told us here and there—I’m always sorry when one of the others interrupts them, or we have to move on and I don’t get the end.”

Bilbo’s cheeks stain faintly pink, and, if possible, he looks even more beautiful than usual. The reflections off the frost seem to give him a pale glow around the edges, his curls slick from the moisture in the air and his nose a little red at the end. He shakes his head, murmuring, “I didn’t know anyone was listening to my silly stories.”

“I’m a scribe,” Ori insists, “of course I listen. Words mean a lot to me, even if I’m not very good with them. But you... you make your stories come alive. You’re wonderful at them, and... and a lot of other things... and I... I like you. Like... that.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows knit together again, and while his cheeks stay pink, he dons a small smile that makes Ori’s chest constrict. Bilbo murmurs, “You know, I wasn’t sure if you were really courting me or not. I didn’t know what dwarves thought of flowers and such, and I wasn’t sure a big brave dwarf would go for a persnickety old hobbit.”

Ori’s not that big or brave, and he’s older than Bilbo, but he still mumbles, “This one does.” Bilbo’s smile grows, and that must be a good thing. Then his hand slips into Ori’s, and Ori’s sure of it. 

“We needn’t go far, then. Let’s just go exchange some stories.”

Ori can’t think of anything he’d rather do. But he’s too hot and happy to say it, so he just nods. Bilbo grins so brightly that it looks like he’ll laugh, but instead he just tugs Ori back towards the house, noting absently, “I’m afraid it’s not much warmer in here, though. We should get a fire going.”


End file.
